


The wrong side of the border

by nowstfucallicles



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M, No Gaby though I love her, One Shot, Post-Movie(s), Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4764044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowstfucallicles/pseuds/nowstfucallicles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something about Kuryakin catches Solo’s eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The wrong side of the border

**Author's Note:**

> Slash, so beware.  
> Don't own the characters.  
> Unbeta-ed. Beware also.

He is watching Kuryakin shave. Simply watching him from the the back of the cabin while the Russian, with his back turned, slowly works the sketchy thing he has found by the sink. They are waiting for pickup, have been waiting there for hours, since the first light of dawn. They should be out of the taiga and on the plane to Nice by now, which leaves Solo wondering if there has been a change in plans.

He hopes there hasn’t. There should be some kind of reward for two weeks of combing the wrong side of the border with a morose KGB spy.

He keeps watching Kuryakin, idly following the movement of his arm in the dim light. Following the shifting of his back. The clear line of it. Skin damp from the wash. The Russian is only a few feet away and Solo is beginning to watch him for real. Beginning to see him the way he sometimes sees something, unceremoniously, out of the blue, that he wants. He licks his lips and his eyes trail along Kuryakin’s back. To the dents above his belt and then back up to his neck. He wants to taste that neck. Taste a hint of that long, lean curve. And maybe it is the receding adrenaline but he thinks he might just as well try it.

Here, in the middle of nowhere, with the familiarity of close quarters and shared meals still lingering between them, he thinks he might just get away with it. So he gets up, stretching his shoulders. The Russian glances at him through the small mirror on the wall and he pauses for a moment when Solo walks up behind him. Only pauses. His instincts are unfailing, Solo notes, even in this. Because Kuryakin’s defenses are still down and there is only a vague readiness about him. As if part of him already knows what will happen next. His eyes are trained on Solo, slightly narrowed, and he lets out a half-barked “What.”

Solo stands still, careful not to move an inch. Not to touch him. “Don’t move,” he says. Counting on the part of the Russian’s nature that makes him receptive to orders. Counting also on the part that trusts him, because despite everything Kuryakin trusts him or else Solo would not still be standing where he is. The Russian eyes him with a frown, placing the razor slowly on the sink and reaching for the towel. Solo merely brushes him with his fingertips at first, and Kuryakin holds in, eyes darting down to his arm. Solo makes a soft sound, “Shhh,” and his fingers trace the Russian’s skin, wander up his forearm as he had just imagined they would, from the other end of the room.

Touching the Russian is tantalizing and he realizes that he is scratching an itch that is older than he has thought. It draws him in, and it is not a pursuit, because Kuryakin is not someone he can have. But he wants him in many small ways right now. Wants the cool skin under his hand, the trail of hair and fine marks. The hard, waiting muscle that still does not stir as Solo’s hand presses his shoulder. 

Kuryakin blinks, staring ahead, not quite at him now. The question is gone from his eyes. It is clear what they are doing, and where it leads them. The Russian is giving him a chance to stop, to end it the way it has begun, but Solo has no intention of stopping. His hand is making its way down Kuryakin’s arm and he leans forward. He looks at the Russian and then closes his eyes, because otherwise he would not get away with it. And he kisses him, very lightly, on the neck. And kisses him again. He smells Kuryakin and tastes the remains of soap, tastes him carefully, slightly. It is a precarious undertaking and he leans closer to the Russian, kissing him further up his neck. 

That taste, it’s not a simple taste. It’s like brass, metallic, with a hint of green. Not elusive, not racy, but it feeds right into his curiosity. He stretches and is almost on the tip of his toes, wanting to kiss that spot below his ear. He has never liked men who were taller than him. The spot excites him, the simple reality of Kuryakin’s tall and still body excites him and it might be more than he has bargained for. He ever so lightly sucks on that spot, his own breath coiling in the back of his throat. Then there is a sound, but it is not him. A sharp intake of breath, Kuryakin’s, and Solo feels the Russian’s jaw tense, as if wanting to get it back. 

Solo relishes it, somewhere in the back of his head he congratulates himself on it, but the way the Russian shifts now does not bode well. Not at all. He knows it’s on the brink now. Either the Russian will beat the living hell out of him or he will do something… something less likely. Kuryakin turns around, one heavy movement, and before Solo can move the Russian’s hand is fisted in his shirt. An unforgiving shade crosses his eyes but he says nothing and for a while they stare at each other. 

Even like this, staring each other down like enemies, Solo wants him no less than before. Even while considering what weak spot to go for, if necessary, he wants him. He would want him even after that, with the bruises forming and his shirt ruined, and maybe another finger dislocated. There is no point in turning back. He pushes into Kuryakin’s grip, careful to keep his own hands on his side. He strains against the Russian’s hold, bringing them closer until they share a breath, until the Russian’s eyes widen and his grip eases enough for Solo to kiss him. 

It is sloppy, held-back, and not like him, the way he kisses Kuryakin, and Kuryakin’s jaw is crashing against his as if he wants to fight after all. Solo has been reckless, he knows it now. Reckless even to his own tastes, but here they are. He is being pulled in, roughly, and he wonders if his shirt would be ruined still. He wonders in the back of his head what else he might have missed, all this time, about the man. 

There is some more pushing and shoving before they drop all pretenses and go at it. Kuryakin’s kisses are both seething and begrudging, his hands deft as they rub and feel their way over Solo with an occasional a half-hissed moan that turns into a curse. So many ways this can go. He licks over Kuryakin's persistent stubble, bringing their hips together with a soft sway until it earns him a hot, delicious jolt. And then another. And it would give him a sense of triumph, if not for the sharp, raw lust building inside him. If not for his wanting to get on his knees before the Russian. Wanting to get down there and unravel the rest of that tight-wound rage. 

The ringing is soft yet pervasive as it rises from the console and they both stop at once. Pickup has arrived. Late and still not late enough. 

He looks at the Russian, somewhat dazed, and finds him already switched back into mission mode. Kuryakin’s eyes are set and he is wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. So this time, Solo breathes out a curse. He lets go and steps back, and they pack up their gear and close off everything in silence. 

By the time they are heading out for the meeting point, they are back in their routine. He follows Kuryakin along the path, wondering what exactly they are wanted for in Nice. He is looking forward to the southern climate, to everything glistening the place holds. Always holds for him. Maybe there would be some time off, too. He catches Kuryakin’s eye, turned back at him over a shoulder, sullen and unguarded. Slightly annoyed. All in all, Solo thinks, Nice is a good place to take any sort of unfinished business.

**Author's Note:**

> Love all kinds of comments. Thanks!


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